Sometimes when I am having trouble falling asleep, I just remodel my whole house in my imagination and it makes me feel very peaceful. My house needs so much work ... it's pretty much reached a point of ridiculousness. For example, the hole in the ceiling in the hallway, from when the furnace was replaced two years ago.
We operate in fits and starts around here. It goes something like this: 1) Embark on enormous home improvement project. 2) Complete 3/4 of home improvement project. 3) Abandon home improvement project.
All that has very little to do with Thanksgiving prep, except that I'm always a bit ashamed to have people over who've been over before and they're like: So those holes in the walls are still there, huh? Yup. Thankfully we are loved for our endearing personalities and not our house.
Yesterday I completed Step 1 of Thanksgiving prep, which was to go to a couple stores and acquire approximately half a million dollars worth of food. Things I still do not have: wine, ground mace (WTF is that anyway), ammonia (where can I get this?), shampoo & conditioner (why is Yes To Carrots always sold out?), decorative gourds (yes, this is necessary to distract from the holes in the walls), and canola oil. The stores are already packed, dudes. It's only going to get worse. Last year the day before Thanksgiving I had to go to THREE stores just to find cream cheese (why is it always cream cheese?!) because two of them had sold out. I was having a major first-world-problems moment.
Today = Step 2: Cleaning. Oh lordy laws. Dusting and vacuuming and fluffing and mopping and washing and scrubbing and oh man I hate cleaning. Things I have recently realized need to be cleaned: The disgusting grease trap over the stove vent. Oh god. It is bad, dudes. Also: The kitchen cupboard doors. I need Mandy to come Windex those bitches for me. And I guess I should take the cooler out of the bathtub. And perhaps the living room curtains should go in the wash, since they look like they're growing their own pubic hair (THANK YOU CATS).
The oven needs to be cleaned in the very worst way you can imagine (last thing I baked: a smoked pizza. Smoked from the crud on the bottom of the oven that caught on fire), but I just realized it's not a self-cleaning oven (yes I have lived in this house for four years) and I will need to clean it with my hands. Which: WTF. I now understand why "self-cleaning oven!" is always listed in the specs for homes that are for sale. That always seemed so silly to me, but if you could see my oven now ... you would understand. It looks like 42 roast beefs exploded in it.
In any case, cleaning is my fate today. Time to embark on this ill-fated adventure.